


moving in with girls and buying sofas (& other inspired repressed-lesbian life choices)

by nereid



Series: Writer's Month August 2019 Prompt Challenge [1]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Cohabitation, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 15:50:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20066578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nereid/pseuds/nereid
Summary: For Writer's Month August challenge. Prompt 1 - annoyance.It's surprising how good they are at this thing they pretend not to be doing.





	moving in with girls and buying sofas (& other inspired repressed-lesbian life choices)

**Author's Note:**

> For Writer's Month challenge, which y'all should go & read works from and/or contribute.
> 
> I decide to pledge myself to using this challenge as an excuse to provide the world with more F/F, so here we are, help us all.

There's really not a good reason for them to be living together, which they maybe sort of are, so they try not to talk about it - hello, crazy cool-ass supervillains as roommates? As if they couldn't steal themselves whatever presidential suites they wanted and inhabit them for however the fuck long they wanted, thankyouverymuch. So they don't talk about it, of course. She's not even sure since when they've lived together. Only Harley's name is on the lease -- because they're not really living together, catch up, will you, notice it but don't talk about it, cause there's some delicate balancing act going on here that probably the two doing the balancing wouldn't be able to tell you a word about. It's surprising how good they are at this thing they pretend not to be doing. 

So they don't talk about it when the bills arrive and Pamela doesn't notice because she's tending to this lovely new poinsettia which Pamela keeps only during summer and Harley doesn't maybe know a lot about plants, but she's seen a movie or two in her day, and gone window shopping enough that she knows those grow around Christmas. They don’t talk about it when the bills arrive and Harley doesn’t notice it because she’s experimenting with homemade explosives, so Pamela charms whoever wants something from them that day, and that solves it, at least for a while. Their electricity bill is impressive, though, but that's neither here nor there. 

They don't talk about it when Harley buys a scarlet sofa, a monstrosity that she sets up as the centerpiece to the living area. She's annoyed okay, and she thinks the color will clash badly with Pamela's hair, but maybe the lighting was different in the store or something, because in days or so, Pamela melts into the couch seamlessly. And she lounges. Harley never lounges, too jittery to do something like that, always doing something instead, not much maybe, checking out the news sometimes, or on the phone, or scheming -- something new and thrilling this month, involving the Gotham subway, but Pamela lounges. Harley doesn't even remember if she's ever sat on the sofa, because it's Pamela's sofa now. But they don't talk about it.

"Honestly, I don't understand how you keep your Gotham supervillain club membership, you don't even do anything," Harley blurts out too fast and not really furious on one July afternoon, while Pamela is lounging. It would perhaps be easier to ignore it if she didn't do it so loudly. Loudly is not the best word, okay, cause it's not like there's any actual noise coming from the sofa or even its general area, besides the tv. But her legs are on one end of the sofa, toe nails bright pink, last season trend, but it's not like Pamela cares, and they clash tragically with her hair, but it's not like Pamela cares. There's some documentary on, something about vineyards probably, guessing by the visuals, and it's too fucking hot, that's what it is, and Harley gets restless. Pamela never gets restless or at least she acts as if she never does, has this down to an act, all careless practiced indifference and what not, but Harley still knows there'll be wine in the fridge later this week. The woman on the documentary is explaining something about southern slopes and sunshine, and Pamela looks up, all the grace of an indoor crawling plant, which is what she resembles at this particular moment, and also at many other equally particular moments. Her limbs are impossibly long.

"You know it's perfectly fine to be still sometimes," Pamela says, not taking the view off the screen. Harley turns her back away, and then changes her mind and turns to walk to the kitchen, noticing, as she does this, Pamela's gaze that quickly switches from watching Harley to watching the tv. Maybe there'll be two bottles of wine in the fridge. Harley changes her mind entirely, goes outside. 

“Don’t wait up.”

She slams the door.

If you asked Pamela when or why she moved in with Harley Quinzel, PhD, ex-girlfriend of Joker and probably a certified crazy person, three possible things might happen, depending on who is asking. (1) if it's Selina asking, there'd be an open threat of violence and no straight answer, but Selina would unavoidably laugh and let it go and maybe roll her eyes and buy you another drink and murmur something about repressed lesbians; (2) if it's one of Joker's henchmen asking, there'd be mild violence and an open threat of more where this came from, and also a "None of your fucking business", response given through a clenched jaw and a clenched fist, and (3) if it's anyone else, then probably, really, no one else would ask this question. Pamela thinks, runs scenarios, and it's not like she can't offer any answer at all, but there's a fourth person and a fifth who might ask this questions and both of them live in the same apartment and sometimes share a bottle of gin on the south-facing balcony after sunset, and neither will ask, at least not aloud.

Harley’s annoying sometimes, Pamela doesn’t pretend otherwise. She never remembers the names of Pamela’s plants and forgets that Pamela takes oat milk in her coffee. She hates that Pamela has taken over the sofa, and doesn’t say. Sometimes she screams when Pamela would prefer her to speak or to be quiet, but Harley doesn’t care about other people in ways Pamela expects. (But she also covers Pamela when she seems cold on the sofa and blushes when Pamela catches her gaze lingering, and there’s a whole carton of oat milk in the fridge now after last week’s incidents).

Pamela first moves in with Harley, honestly, because she thinks Harley will be fun. Here is someone, she thinks, who’ll leave her alone when she wants them to and occasionally explode stuff in the kitchen, and have fun stories from parts of Gotham’s criminal milieu which Pamela does not make it a habit of knowing, but appreciates grudgingly from afar. Harley’s a terrible storyteller - stutters, mixes up the order of events, and forgets punchlines. She only explodes stuff about once a week, and the fun leftover from that does not linger for long. So, Pamela’s assessment is wrong, which means Pamela should move out, but then - well, she’s still here.

Harley mostly doesn’t cook, which Pamela discovers after moving in. She orders in, and has one mega-mono-maniacal attempt at cooking every two weeks. She can’t make pasta milanese before her concentration is seduced away by something else, but attempts three-day beef recipes and French recipes even Pamela can’t pronounce.

Pamela really thinks this all isn’t meant to be seduction on Harley’s side, but it works like that anyway. Pamela doesn’t notice it at first, doesn’t give it a second thought, which is not unusual for Pamela, but what’s unusual for Pamela is what comes later. She becomes - for lack of a better word - careful. And Pamela is many things, crazy - perhaps, too, but not careful. She doesn’t want to scare Harley off - to say Harley’s had romantic trauma in the past is an idiocy - Pamela knows this as abuse, even if Harley won’t call it that, and Pamela’s not sure she can be as gentle as the thinks Harley needs her to, and this is not in a physical sense, it’s not the sex, it’s just she wants never to yell at Harley the way Joker did, and she doesn’t want Harley ever to be afraid of her, and even if she can’t poison her with one touch - good old immunizers helps and she cannot kill her, she doesn’t know if Harley knows she won’t. (Pamela also doesn’t really know that she won’t.)

Harley comes home after 1 pm. Pamela pretends she didn’t wait up, but she did, of course she did. She’s becoming such a dreadful romantic. Maybe some of her plants have unexpected side effects, maybe it’s that, and not the sight of Harley in a dark blue top, a bit worn around the edges, FIGHT LIKE A GIRL printed on it in bold white letters. Harley’s nothing if she’s not bold. Pamela’s nothing if she’s not -- well, doesn’t matter.

“You didn’t have to wait up.”

Harley’s taking the cool gin bottle from the fridge, and has a smile painted on her face when she turns to face Pamela.

“Of course not.”

“You’re too still for me,” Harley says, and Pamela doesn’t know what they’re talking about, not really.

Harley continues when Pamela doesn’t say anything.

“You have too many plants, and you don’t go outside enough, there’s psychological issues to be expected from this amount of social exclusion.”

Pamela says nothing. Maybe Harley’s going to have to be brave enough for both of them here.

“I’m too fidgety. I’m restless. It would be good for me to - be still, not maybe for long, but every once in a while,” Harley says and leaves the kitchen, shoulder brushing against Pamela’s shoulder as she does. Pamela follows Harley, who’s seated herself on the right side of the scarlet sofa. She stretches out her hand, and offers the unscrewed gin bottle to Pamela.

“So, maybe, I don’t know, maybe I should stand still more, and you should go out more, is all I’m saying.”

Harley pats the sofa, right next to her, and Pamela’s legs feel a bit like giving out beneath her, but for once, Harley is a steadying presence, and she doesn’t. The sofa is warm, especially not the sofa, but Harley, like her left arm that presses into Pamela’s arm, and Pamela allows herself to lean into the touch.

“I can - we can go out tomorrow.”

“Excellent, I’ve got tons of plans, there’s a new bar that opened last week on 2nd street I’ve wanted to try out, and also I haven’t been to the zoo in a while and it’s always better to go after closing hours, and I think I need new shoes so maybe we could steal some?”

Pamela hates it when in movies someone kisses someone to shut them up. She doesn’t really understand why they want to shut someone up and they want to kiss them, also? She always wants to hear Harley talk, even when she’s being bratty and annoying.

“Whatever you want,” Pamela says, surprises herself, honesty does not always come easily and does not always have the taste of honesty, but this does, pleasant mostly, like morning flowers before opening completely.

“And we can stay in tonight, finish that wineyard documentary.”

Harley’s whole body is warm, and Pamela sees now that this sofa was really an inspired idea.

Being brave, Pamela remembers, is not only Harley’s strong suit, but Pamela’s also. She scoots a bit and rests her head in Harley’s lap, and melts when Harley’s fingers start brushing away Pamela’s hair from her forehead.

Harley leans in to kiss her forehead, and Pamela thinks, yes, my dear raving lunatic, maybe we can melt our crazies into one crazy and do this. Pamela’s heartbeat quickens, and Harley thinks, yes, my dear crazy plant lady, maybe we can be good for each other, too.


End file.
